


With Thy Saints Surrounded

by Fluffyllama (Llama)



Category: Crossover - Harry Potter / Boondock Saints
Genre: Incest, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Fluffyllama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Landed with a mysterious teenager, Connor and Murphy do the only thing they can - take him into the family business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Thy Saints Surrounded

It wasn’t uncommon for Connor McManus to be confused. God knows, some of the shit they’d been through would confuse anybody. It was, however, not so common for him to be confused before he’d even opened his eyes to another bright new day.

There was a pleasant hardness behind him that had been all too absent for the past few weeks. There was a far less pleasant pressure on his bladder that he was going to have to deal with soon, and was probably the reason he’d awoken. There was a scent of sweat that was both his and not his. Finally, and currently of most interest to his awakening body, there was the warm, wet sensation currently making its way over his shoulder blades.

 _Shit._  
  
“What the fuck d’you think you’re doin’?”

He twisted out of his brother’s grip and checked around the room. No sign of company for a change, and at least the door was shut. He flopped back into the bed and stared up at Murphy’s cracked grin.

“What, you need a diagram now?” Murphy made to dive under the covers, but Connor caught his wrist. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“No, I don’t need a fucking diagram.” Connor swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Just a piss.”

“Da went out,” he heard Murphy call as he padded into the bathroom. Nice, very plush. He could get used to this en suite thing. How much money did they have left?

“Out where?” He winced at the echo bouncing off the mirrored walls, and avoided his reflection. Some days you didn’t need a mirror to know you looked like shit.

“How should I know?” Murphy was leaning on one arm, the sheet pushed down to his waist. “The door just slammed, and I came over to wake you, fuckin’ sleepin’ like a dead man here in your little bed.” His grin was brighter than the sun trying to struggle through the blinds, and the day was a little better already.

“You could have read the fucking note first.” Connor flopped back onto the bed and lifted his arms to give Murphy the access he knew he’d be looking for. Sure enough, a hot, wet mouth fastened around his cock, and he groaned. How was he supposed to read anything with that going on? He squinted at the crumpled piece of paper in his hands, trying to focus on the uneven handwriting. Shit, his eyes were full of… something.

 _“Boys. I’m feeling the call of the motherland, maybe I’ll even visit your Ma. Just do one thing for your old Da – take care of the kid.”_

He let the note fall onto his chest and threaded his fingers through the dark mess of hair bobbing just below it. “Kid? What kid?”

Murphy shrugged his indifference as best he could and sucked harder. Connor bucked his hips and groaned. _Fuck_ , but he needed this. “Jesus, Murph, that’s… oh yeah. Gonna come, gonna–”

Murphy sat up and wiped his mouth with a grin, and Connor couldn’t help but reach up to kiss him, taste those lips. He was almost there too, so close, so very close, when Murphy’s eyes opened wide and he squeezed Connor’s arm in warning.

“Um,” came a voice from behind him.

Connor could feel his head swivelling against his will, his heart thumping, his brain hammering out ‘not Da, not Da’, over and over again. But Da would be saying a lot more than ‘Um’ if he was stood in the doorway, that was for fucking sure.

“Well,” said Murphy, resting his chin on Connor’s shoulder. “You’d probably be The Kid then, would ya?”

* * *

“That was a long time ago.” The Kid scowled as the brothers clinked their glasses together and drank deeply.

“Sure, but he never gets tired of telling a good tale, hadn’t you noticed?”

“And you, Murphy MacManus, drink like a fuckin’ woman, but do I tell everyone? No, I do not.”

Murphy feinted a wild punch and ducked to make a grab for Connor’s legs, while the rest of the bar’s patrons scattered like rats around them. Ah, business as usual.

Outside, the Kid was quiet. Way too quiet for a man who’d been drinking with the MacManus brothers since breakfast.

“Hey.” Connor pulled away from Murphy’s arm and launched himself at the shorter figure stalking off in front of them. It stepped sideways and dodged his bear hug easily. “Hey, Kid. You know I didn’t mean anything with all that shite I was talkin’, didn’t you?”

All he got in reply was a quick glance in his direction before the boy concentrated on negotiating the alleyway again.

“Ah, fuck. Tell him, Murph, wouldya?”

Murphy winked at Connor, all beer-happy today and inappropriately affectionate; just how Connor loved him best. Loose-limbed, still humming something unrecognisable to human ears, he slung his arm around the boy’s neck.

“If ya take my advice, you’ll hold out for a full ass-kissing, Kid. You must have noticed Connor’s a master with the old tongue by now, and—“

Connor charged straight into him with a roar, and they danced backwards to the music of the Kid’s sudden laughter until Murphy hit the deck between the wall and a row of carelessly stacked sheets of… well, fuck knows, but something that was now toppling and slipping along the alleyway, splintering and cracking as it slipped to the ground.

“Jesus, Connor,” said Murphy, struggling to regain his footing.

“You and your fuckin’ mouth.” Connor stretched out his hand to pull Murphy to his feet, still ready to duck a punch if it came, but Murphy was more interested in the state of his favourite t-shirt.

“I’m fuckin’ covered in shit now, look at me!”

“You’re always fucking covered in shit, you… Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that smells.”

“Didn’t I just say—”

“Guys?”

Connor slapped Murphy’s hands away and looked towards the short figure in the centre of the alley.

“I think we’re here.” The Kid unrolled a black mask and began to pull it on.

“This one?” Murphy jerked a thumb at the unobtrusive door lurking beneath a rickety fire escape. “You sure?”

“Better be fuckin’ sure for this one.” Connor came up on his other side and stretched a black woollen balaclava over his head.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” The Kid looked from one masked face to another. “On three, we go, right?”

Connor slung an arm around one of the Kid’s shoulders and settled his gun in the other hand. He grinned as Murphy mirrored his actions on the other side.

“One.”

He grasped Murphy’s elbow and nudged him forward into the same charging position.

“Two.”

He wedged his hip in tightly against the Kid’s body and was rewarded with a warm squeeze.

 _“Three.”_   


* * *

“Think this is one of yours then, do ya?”

Ron Weasley ignored the sneer in the police officer’s voice. After so many months of this he’d become used to the hostility of local law enforcement across more than a dozen states. Purcell was a world class example of the type, and just having him in earshot made Ron’s wand hand itch. He concentrated on the bloody and twisted body lying at his feet instead.

“Maybe.”

“I don’t get it, this magic connection of yours. See, us – whatjacallits?”

“Muggles.”

“… Muggles, yeah. We got these things called _guns_. You can’t beat a gun as a weapon. And this? This looks like a pretty straightforward shooting if you ask me.”

“Nobody did.” But there was no disputing it — this man had definitely been shot. He reached down to where Doctor Hill was pushing up the man’s sleeve. There was still warmth in the tattooed skin. “How long?”

“No more than an hour, maybe an hour and a half ago. Bullet to the heart. Lucky shot – for him. Some of them weren’t so lucky.”

Ron straightened up, and made his way over to the next body. A large man this one, lying in the debris of a drinks cabinet. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of the damp floor.

“Thrown back by the force of the bullet.” Officer Purcell hovered behind him. “Unless you think he was levitated. You know – with some of that magic o’ yours.”

Ron ignored the sniggers from around the room, all hastily swallowed under coughs when he looked up. He shoved his coat back and pulled out his wand.

“I’ll let you know,” he said, and stepped decisively over the body.

Truthfully, he wasn’t so sure this was any of his business any longer. There were no obvious signs of magic, but then after the trail of devastation he’d been following his prey had to get more careful eventually. There was something though, something he was missing…

“Bullets in ‘em all.” The doctor looked up as Ron made his way among the bodies. “You got anything?”

Ron shrugged. “Nothing, except…” He thought for a moment, then headed over to the door.

“If the killers burst through the door, wouldn’t the victims all be facing that way?”

The officer followed on his heels as he circled his way through the bodies, examining the position of each. Finally he stood in the centre of the room and stretched out his wand hand. Slowly circling on the spot, he imagined flashes of fire bursting out to send each man keeling over in turn.

 _Flash_ , the man tipped sideways over the sofa.

 _Flash_ , the large man blown through the drinks cabinet.

 _Flash_ , a man with an exceptionally unprepossessing wig slanted sadly over one eye.

 _Flash_ , the young man with a gun still in his shoulder holster.

He looked up at the ceiling. No sign of entry there. That could only mean one thing.

“Yeah,” he said, lowering his wand. “It’s one of mine.”

* * *

 _“Three.”_

They blinked into darkness, and Connor could hear Murphy whoop before the rush of air knocked the breath out of both of them. His feet hit the floor a moment before his vision cleared, but his finger didn’t wait for his brain to catch up.

 _Blam, blam, blam_ , and two startled faces barely had chance to register what was happening before they gaped in pain and horror. He stepped to one side, not releasing his grip on Murphy’s arm, both of them pivoting around the Kid with practised ease.

 _Blam, blam, crash_ , the recoil thudded hard in his muscles, shuddering through his nerves to his balls. He could feel the splinters of glass that flew in slow motion across the room, barely slowed by the bulky figure that sprawled among the wreckage.

He stepped sideways again, perfectly in time, and saw only downed men; Murphy had done his work just as efficiently. He let his arm slip from the Kid’s shoulders and crunched over the shards of glass littering the floor.

“Nice work, lads!” He turned and grinned at his companions. “Shame we broke all the bottles. A celebratory drink could be in order right about now.”

“Noisy, though.” The Kid shrugged off Murphy’s arm and strode to the window, pulling a gap in the blinds to peer through.

“Ah, what’s a bit of noise?” Murphy shoved his gun into his belt and kicked at the leg of the nearest corpse. It didn’t move. “We were after six, we got six.”

“Three each – fuck, we’re still level.”

“It’s not a game.” The Kid was still peering out into the street, but he cast a disapproving glance back towards them. Connor shrugged it off – the Kid had some funny ideas at times — but Murphy laughed, strutting his way over towards the window.

“You know, sometimes when we’re on a job, I think to myself: Shit, this is just like having Rocco back.”

The Kid straightened up, his shoulders tensed. Fuck, and it had all been going so well.

“And then,” said Murphy, wiping the sweat from his face, “you open your fuckin’ stupid mouth, and—”

There wasn’t even the hint of a warning, just a blurred motion of his hand and the Kid had his wand out and spitting sparks. Murphy hit the deck, screaming blue murder.

“Fuck!”

Connor sprang, and managed to shield Murphy with his body before the Kid got another strike.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“C’mon kid, enough’s enough!”

“Tell him that.” The Kid’s eyes were dark, his face strained.

Murphy’s thrashing caught Connor a hard knock on the shin, and he swore loudly.

“He’s been ridin’ ya for fuckin’ weeks, and you choose _now_ to teach him a lesson?” Connor limped forward, leaving his brother on the floor. He kept his eyes on the Kid, or near enough. In a mood like this there was no telling what he’d do.

“Good a time as any.” The Kid folded his arms. Jesus, what a day to pick to act his fuckin’ age.

“Listen, kid. You’re a great shot, a fantastic lay, and – no question — an indispensable member of the team.” Connor reached under his coat in an unmistakeable gesture, and the Kid grasped his wand more tightly, eyes wide.

“But your timing?”

He nodded towards the door, and the Kid turned, wary.

“… it fuckin’ stinks.”

Two pistols cocked in tandem with a single soft _click_ , and the door burst open into the room.

* * *

“This is where we think they came in.” Officer Purcell set his hands on his hips and surveyed the wreckage of the door. “ _Sir_ ,” he added, in a tone that said something quite different.

“You’re wrong.” Ron stepped through the door way and glanced around. Ordinary looking hallway, apart from the bullet holes. He peered more closely at one, and looked back towards the room and the body. “He’s the only one who came in this way.”

Purcell just looked smug. “With all due respect, _sir_ , someone burst through this door. If it was him, why isn’t he riddled with bullets?” He pointed to the two neat bullet wounds in the back of the man’s head.

“And if it wasn’t him,” Ron said, turning back to point into the corridor, “how come the wall _is_?”

He knelt down to check the body while Purcell and his lackeys scrambled into the hallway. The bullets would have hit the man’s chest, or thereabouts, if he’d been standing there…

He looked up. If he’d been _standing_.

There was no sign of loose carpets or rugs. The man had come through the door quickly, but shoulder-charging a door rarely tripped anyone up. His shoelaces were — yes, securely tied.

Ron’s hands shook as he pulled his wand out once more. Maybe this was the one. After all this time, all this work, official and unofficial, maybe he was now close to the man he was hunting.

He muttered the detection charm and held his breath.

* * *

Connor squeezed the trigger hard and heard the matching shot from Murphy’s pistol, but watched in disappointment as both bullets thudded into the wall.

“Fuck,” he shouted, and fired again before he realised why they’d missed. The man crashed to the floor in a blast of red light, blinking up stupidly into the point of the Kid’s wand.

He crossed the room in a couple of long strides and grabbed an arm. The Kid stood back while Murphy took the other, still cursing under his breath from his tortured muscles.

 _“And shepherds we shall be, for thee my Lord for thee…”_

The pistol was steady in Connor’s hand, blunt against the short, bristly hair. Specks of dandruff caught his eye; that wasn’t going to be a problem much longer.

 _“… Power hath descended forth from thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command…”_

The man struggled weakly in their grasp as he came to his senses from the hex, but they held him fast, grip as firm as their judgement. And he felt it coursing through him once more; the knowledge, the power, the gift granted them both. The peace.

 _“… we shall flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be.”_

Their voices rose, the prayer taking them over. This was their work, their calling, and they were the best. The Kid stretched out his wand again, but he wasn’t going to need it. They cocked their pistols for the final time.

 _“In nomine patris, et filii et spiritus sancti.”_

 _Blam._

* * *

Ron watched the faint pattern of red sparks in the air until it faded.

“Er, sir?”

His knee ached to straighten it; he wondered just how long he’d been crouched there.

Purcell’s face was pale, and he eyed Ron’s wand with a new, though no doubt short-lived, respect.

“They want to move the bodies, sir.”

“Right.” Ron stepped aside and let the team tip the body into a bag and zip it up. He felt strangely bereft as it disappeared from sight, but it had told him all it knew.

The rest was up to him.

* * *

“Nice work, kid.”

Connor straddled the Kid’s legs and leaned down to kiss him. He tasted good, all fire and anger, and that was just what he needed right now. And maybe that magic of his was an extra touch of spice, or maybe it was just the comedown from the high of the job, but he was hard as nails and aching for relief. He smiled a sly, seductive smile, and let his fingers press harder where they trailed up the crease of the Kid’s jeans.

Ah, he didn’t look quite so young when his eyes darkened like that. Connor ground down harder – oh yeah, he was ready for him, too. He slid his fingers into the boy’s dark hair, all ruffled and messy from pulling off the mask, half stood on end, and edged closer for a deeper kiss.

“Will you two get a fuckin’ room?”

And there was Murphy spoiling things again. The Kid pulled his hand away and that was no fun at all. Connor grabbed Murphy’s arm and pulled him down to the sofa.

“Fuck off.”

But Connor wasn’t going to take “No”, “Fuck off”, or anything else for an answer. This had gone on far too long. Murphy jerked his head as Connor’s hand slid up his chest, along the curve of his neck and under his t-shirt. The Kid’s hands pushed at his hips, trying to shift his weight, throw him off, but he wasn’t going to budge. Instead he hooked his hand around Murphy’s neck and pulled him closer. His lips were all hard, set in a straight line to keep him out, but he poked a finger at them playfully, and if that wasn’t a twitch of a smile, he didn’t know his brother at all.

“How long are ya gonna sulk with me, Murph?”

The Kid pushed him again, bucking his legs and swearing under his breath, but Connor just laughed and pressed him harder into the sofa. He let the tension drain down his arm to keep his voice soft and his mouth gentle, persuasive. He nudged at Murphy’s unresponsive lips, and slowly, grudgingly, they parted under the pressure. Ignoring the protests from underneath him, he drank in the taste and feel of the mouth against his, the tongue that pressed tentatively where it once possessed.

“Better?” He pulled back, more than gratified to see Murphy’s nod.

“You going to get off me now?” Just one sulky little bastard left to deal with, and then—

He left his hand on Murphy’s shoulder, pressing down hard enough to get his message across, and sought out the second set of downturned, hostile lips. This was a tougher proposition. This was a Kid who didn’t like to be left out.

“C’mon, you’re not going to hold one little kiss against me, are ya?” He squeezed the muscles of Murphy’s neck with every bit of feeling he could muster. _Don’t fuck this up, all right?_

“I don’t know.” The Kid gasped underneath him, but he opened up all right. Connor ground down again; yeah, that was why. Teenagers, you had to love ‘em. “Are you going to do it again?”

Connor could feel Murphy tense to pull away, and he used every bit of strength to keep him still. He let his fingers massage slowly, working his own brand of magic into the muscle.

“Fuck, yes.” Connor watched those eyelids flicker, hiding his disappointment.

“Fine.” The Kid’s voice was tight, distant. “Maybe it’s time I was leaving anyway. You know, if they send Aurors after me, they might be able to track me here.”

“Fuck your Aurors, you’re not leaving,” Murphy sounded resigned. “I just wanna know what the fuck’s goin’ on here.”

“Kiss him.”

It was hard to say which of them looked more surprised. But he was watching Murphy, and that flash of desire was enough. It didn’t matter which of them really provoked it.

“I don’t want—”

But Connor silenced the Kid with his hand. “Just fuckin’ try, will you?”

It was like watching two kids forced to shake hands in the schoolyard. A swaggering “Yeah, I don’t wanna do this, I won’t enjoy it,” on one hand and a “No hands, just hit the lips and get out,” posture on the other. He was just about ready to bang both their heads together.

“Again.”

And now they were both _really_ pissed off with him, but they took longer, and that was a hand Murphy was using to balance himself now, body no longer quite so poised for flight.

“More.”

Now fingers creeping up into Murphy’s hair, and they for fucking sure weren’t Connor’s, which were busy on the Kid’s zip, finding ingenious ways to slip his fingers inside even from this awkward position. It couldn’t hurt to help things along a little.

Next time they parted, he didn’t say a word, and nobody needed him to.

“So.” Connor cleared his throat at an opportune moment. “Think we can make this work?”

In the silence of their shared glance, there was a knock at the door.

* * *

Ron was so sure of the sight that was going to greet him that the anti-climax almost knocked the breath out of him.

“I’m here on business—” he started, but what could he say? He was as sure as he could be that the trail led here, but a hotel room? They could be long gone by now. Flashing Auror credentials was just not an option.

Funny that he’d spent all this time on the chase without the first idea what to do if he ever succeeded.

If he had.

“I’m here—” And again he stalled, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d dealt with tougher customers than this mussed up, sleepy-eyed Muggle in front of him.

“Yeah, you’re definitely here.” The man raised an eyebrow and ran his eyes up and down Ron, appraising him without any apparent attempt to hide it.

“I’m here to look for a friend.”

He swallowed at the intense gaze the man fixed on him, and let his hand edge closer to his wand pocket as the lounging figure straightened up.

“We’re all friends here,” he said, a lazy smile hinting at far more meanings than Ron was comfortable with. For the first time in all his travels, he wondered if he was out of his depth.

What the hell he was thinking of stepping through the doorway without back up, he had no idea, but he did it. He could almost smell how close he was, the residue of magic clinging to something nearby, something that just might be—

He stopped at the sight of the figure on the sofa.

“Harry.”

The man who’d let him in whistled. “Harry, is it?”

“Nice name, kid.” Laughter from the darker, thin-faced man lounging obscenely at one end of the seat.

“They didn’t know?” Of all the questions he should have asked, could have asked, that was the first thing he could think of to say to his long-lost best friend at this moment? Really, that was kind of pathetic. “Sorry.”

Harry just shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What do you want, Ron?”

Just like that. “What do I want?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve traipsed over half this bloody country, half the bloody _world_ looking for you, and you want to know _what I want_?”

The first man was on his feet as soon as Ron raised his voice, and his body was so close, so downright dangerous, that Ron had to look twice to make sure he didn’t have a weapon in his hand.

“I want you to come home. To England. To our world – your world.” _To me._

And even before Harry opened his mouth, he knew what the answer was.

“I can’t.”

All this time, all this work – it should have been so easy, standing here, for it to all go as he’d rehearsed it in his head for months. It was never like this when he dreamed about it.

“They made me into what they needed, Ron. You know what they did.”

He swallowed. Oh, he knew, all right. He wished he didn’t, daily. Nightly.

“And that’s all I can do now. They needed a weapon, and they got one. Now I’m saving them the trouble of pretending they’re not afraid of me.”

“Harry…”

“You don’t need me any more, but these two…” Harry gestured to either side of him. “They need a weapon. They need what I can do.”

“You bet we do.” The first man slid gracefully over the arm of the sofa into Harry’s partial embrace.

The second edged closer on the other side, leaning forward to light a cigarette. “Yeah. Harry’s an indispensable part of the team.” He blinked up at Ron through a puff of smoke.

Ron nodded, slowly. “I’ll need—” He stopped, his voice about to betray him. “I’ll need your wand.”

It was his only chance. Harry couldn’t give that up, could he? He caught the quick exchange of glances, the bitten lips, and knew he wasn’t the only one thinking it.

But Harry reached behind him and pulled out that familiar length of wood. With only a brief flash of regret crossing his face, he tossed it over to Ron.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, breaking that wand. And not just because of the look on Harry’s face. He didn’t miss the hands that squeezed Harry’s leg and shoulder in sympathy.

“Anything else?”

Ron shook his head, and started for the door. His hand on the doorknob, he took a last look at his old friend.

“Just one thing.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow.

“Which one are you sleeping with?”

Harry barked a short laugh and shook his head. “Ron…”

Ron watched the first man drape himself over Harry’s shoulder, hip wedged tight in the small space, hand still squeezing his knee. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of a personal question?” he asked, and Ron had to look away.

The second slid in too, rather less comfortably but no less intimately, to take possession of Harry’s other side. He slipped his hand behind Harry, out of sight to god knows where, but there was a malicious gleam in his eye when he spoke. “Aye, Connor, I think it is.”

Harry smiled.

* * *

Purcell and his cronies were gossiping over cardboard cups of coffee when Ron stepped back into the sunlight.

“Sir?” One of the other officers braved his temper first. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No.” He avoided their eyes, but he could imagine the looks he was getting.

“So, no wizards up there?” Purcell’s cocky tones would have earned him a black eye any other day.

“No, there’s no wizards there,” Ron said, his fingers tingling against the smooth lengths of wood in his pocket. He curled them into his fist, feeling them dig hard into his palm. “In fact, I don’t think there’s any point in me staying around here much longer.”

It was only the sun in his eyes that made them sting when he turned back to face them, nothing else.

“You were right, Purcell.”

The man was visibly shocked, but somehow managed to look triumphant at the same time. He shrugged his shoulders, probably wondering if Ron was going to spring some verbal trap on him.

“I was?”

“Yeah.” Ron said, letting the broken pieces of wand slip from his fingers into the overgrown grass. “These days, Muggles have all the best weapons.”


End file.
